


Punitive

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Demisexuality, M/M, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8549005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: After the Starkiller, Snoke punishes Kylo.
Hux is there to pick up the pieces.





	

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Injury, violence, trauma, torture, abuse &c also dc doesn’t know the meaning of the word smol.

It starts in the shuttlecraft. Kylo can feel the disgust, and he knows it isn’t all internal. Some of it is the Leader, and some of it is the man who finds him curled up in the snow.

At least, he was sure it came from him, too. He’d pushed his burned face into the snow and ice to cool the fire of the lightsaber-strike, fantasising about never lifting it up and letting the cold spread through him and make him one with it, before the inevitable explosion out. He’d wondered if he’d die in ice, or in fire. Hypothermia, or explosion. 

Somewhere after he’d resigned himself to his death, he’d heard footsteps crunch through the world. He’d tried to push himself deeper into the white, moving with what little strength he’d had left, and found himself pulled out of the drift by an angry General and his troops.

They hadn’t even left him alone to die in peace. He had to be seen - unmasked, unmanned - in all his failure. He’d felt the disgust and despair, but he’d felt something else, too.

Eyes closed and face turned, fighting with immobility when hands tried to heal him. Refusing to make a sound, no matter how much they hurt him. Going deeper into himself, fighting the urge to cry, and a lightly warmed cloth to his face, dabbing away the biting frost.

“Did it hurt that much?”  


More. More. The wounds had cauterised the moment they’d been left. His skin seared shut like a steak on a hot stove. Cooked and closed and really the ice had hurt in different ways. It hadn’t been to kill the fire, but to kill something deeper.

 _I wanted it all to stop_.

They treat his injuries, but he doesn’t help them do it. He wants them to throw him out the open back of the shuttle. He wants to die in flames like a Sith might. He doesn’t want to face the pitying, or disgusted stares.

He doesn’t want to face himself.

But the hand that squeezes his tries to push in comfort, and he - weak, weak, weak - squeezes back all the same.

***

He’s taken from the shuttle into the medbay, and there he’s mostly alone with his thoughts. They patch his body together, but he no longer feels like it’s home. The pain is there, but distant. His mind won’t stay attached for long, and even the Force is flighty and confusing.

Or maybe it’s just his connection to it. 

Sealed up, but no real analgesics. He doesn’t deserve them anyway.

Once he can walk, he’s called to answer for his weakness.

 _I killed him. I killed Han Solo_.

 **You let the Scavenger Girl defeat you**.

_I was wounded. I was injured._

**I thought I taught you to let pain make you strong.**

_I tried, Master, please. Please teach me_.

The wounds are fresh in his body, but as they slice deeper into him… he can’t feel them as he thought he would. Sharp, cutting, burning, bleeding. Vibroblades and bowcaster bolts and lightsaber searings. It’s all physical, and it’s nothing compared to the knowledge of his _failure_.

Down he drops, hands and knees. Panting, rocking back and forth on his hands and knees. It’s not to ease out the agony he’s feeling, because he knows he deserves it. 

It’s the pain deeper in, the pain of knowing what he’s lost. He’s not even strong enough to defeat an untrained wretch of a girl, and it’s all going to fail. She will find Luke Skywalker and–

More pain, crackling like bolts of purest dark light. His lips curl back, spit joining teeth, his bones crunching and the marrow turned to crystals inside, prickling sharp bites from the inside out. He can’t even make a sound, his breathing too laboured, his chest too tight. Down he sinks, aware of his own mortality.

He let the girl defeat him.

He is nothing, nothing, nothing.

***

He trains. He walks in as proudly as he can into the chamber, and he drops to his knees and he waits for the instruction. Some days it is to fight, some days it is to suffer, some days he doesn’t know what the Leader wants, and whatever he does is wrong.

He trains, and is punished, because that is what he deserves. It is what he has asked for, for all these years, and he cannot progress without the Leader’s knowledge. His body barely bends when he retreats to his room, and he can’t remember when he last ate. He’s sure he had some liquid, but he can’t remember that, either. 

Into his room, and he collapses on the cot. 

The nightmares continue, much as they did in training. The only relief is that his body is lying down, while his mind pulls him apart for the Leader. He’s working very hard, and–

The door opens, and he tries to rise to shout, but he finds he can barely put his hands down to the bed.

“ _Maker_ , Ren, what the hell is he doing to you?”  


“Training,” he rasps. “Force.”  


Kylo squawks in distress when a hand goes to touch his forehead, cringing back. 

“Ren… you’re running a fever.”  


“Stop,” he tries to order, though it feels more like begging when it comes out. “Training.”  


“Kylo, he’s _killing_ you.”  


“Fine.”  


“You’re not fine.”  


That isn’t what he meant, and he turns his head away. It would be fine if he–

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and Kylo curls up tighter. It hurts everywhere, and he can’t even defend himself. He’s used all his strength for now, and he can’t push the man away. He’s too grief-stricken to cry, but then there’s a blanket pulled around him, and hands remove his boots. 

Confused, he passes out, his mind skipping between now-then and maybe-future and definitely-maybe-yes-not.

***

When he does wake, he realises Hux hasn’t left. There’s a Bacta bandage over his side (he must have burst it open again), and a cold cloth over his forehead. There’s a small jug of water by the side of the bed, and the burning points on his arm says Hux has pushed things into his system intravenously at some point.

Hux is sitting in the chair by the side of the bed, passed out sideways into the wall. At this angle, his mouth drops open and light snores chunter past his lips. 

Kylo tries to get out of bed delicately, but a hand shoves him back down again.

“Training,” he says, although he’s begging.  


“It’s over, Ren.”  


“No… I need to complete…”  


“The Leader is satisfied,” Hux insists, with an odd twist to his mouth.   


“He thinks I’m weak. He thinks I’m–”  


“Actually, the fact that I had to sedate you to keep you from going back to him was the final straw that said he was convinced you were ‘there’.” Hux pushes his knuckles backwards, cracking them out. “Or, for now. He says your training won’t be entirely complete until you kill all the Jedi, but he said you’re done with him, for now.”  


Kylo slumps. He doesn’t feel any better. He feels worse, if anything. His body aches and groans, and he can feel everything tight and tense or torn. Hux has seen him fail again, and…

Why is he here? Now? Why is he caring for him? Shouldn’t he just be left to lie in a pile until he musters enough Force ability to move, or heal? 

Kylo tries to get up again, but a hand on his shoulder prevents it. He looks up and sees real concern on Hux’s face. 

“It’s what I deserve,” he whispers. “I failed him.”  


“So did I.”  


Kylo doesn’t know what to say to that. Hux isn’t Snoke’s Apprentice, but he is important in his own way. Should he ask what punishment he’s undergone? Suggest he is owed his own? What? He’s not sure what the correct response is here.

“I failed,” he says, again.  


A hand finds his, holds, squeezes. “You did. But you’re still here. Don’t give up now, not when you’ve come through so much.”

I’m not enough, his head says. I’m not enough. The hand on his is warm, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

He feels a chill again, and his body wracks with pain.

“You’re carrying an infection,” Hux says. “From your injuries, and then your… training. I have you on meds, but it’s a matter of time.”  


Should have just let me–

“Are you hot? Cold? Thirsty?”  


“Why?” Kylo asks. “Can’t you send a medic in?”  


Eyes move away. “I didn’t think you’d want them to see you like this.”

It’s true, but it’s more than he expected. Especially considering Hux’s position. Kylo wonders how he’s managing nursemaiding plus his regular job, but the shadows around his eyes and the upright sleeping gives him some answer to that.

“You should sleep,” Kylo suggests.  


“I was. Now… are you thirsty?”  


“…a little.”  


Hux stands, pouring him some water. Kylo finds he’s too weak to sit up properly, even when he’s helped. The helplessness makes him self-conscious, and panic starts to flood through him until he’s hauled against Hux’s chest, and then laid back down like he’s a baby again. 

Kylo doesn’t remember the last time…

He sips the water, and lies warily down. “Why?”

“You’ve suffered enough,” is all Hux will say. “If you can sleep, it will help.”  


Kylo nods, and closes his eyes. He’s too alert to really let… let…

***

When Kylo wakes next, he’s not alone. He doesn’t process it straight off, but there’s a warm, firm softness behind him, and then there’s an extra arm over his waist. He’s sure it’s not his, because it doesn’t move when he tells it to. And there’s breathing against his nape.

He’s still dressed. So, he assumes, is Hux. Not that anyone would find him sexually attractive when he’s fever-mad, if ever.

Kylo strokes over one of the fingers on his hip, his breathing naturally yoked to Hux’s. He doesn’t know if the man is awake or not, or why he’s decided to spoon up behind him, but it’s comforting. 

A deep breath, then he rolls over. Pushes his head under Hux’s chin. Curls up in the expanse of his chest, and puts a hand out to feel the beating of his heart. It’s an intimate theft, but he hopes Hux won’t object.

***

Kylo starts to accept Hux’s help. When he wakes again, and is offered food and drink, he takes in as much as he can before his belly starts to ache. He doesn’t fight the meds, or the spongebaths, or the shoulder under his arm to help him to the ‘fresher to relieve himself.

Hux doesn’t once put him down. Doesn’t once chide him for the slowness of his recovery, or complain about his duties (other than the occasional grumble about how tall or heavy he is), and Kylo rewards him by fighting to recover as quickly as possible.

For whatever reason, Hux actually wants him well, and Kylo would rather be well to please Hux than be well for his own good. It might not be the most healthy of motivations, but it works enough for him. 

When he’s fit enough, Hux nods. 

“…what now?” Kylo asks.  


“You’re fit to return to duties,” Hux pronounces.  


But that isn’t what he… “I meant: _what now_?”

“Was I not clear?”  


“Hux… you did all that just to get me back to work?”  


“I did it because you were destroying yourself, Ren.”  


Kylo frowns. “So. Now… I’m fine?”

“Now you’re fit.”

“For duties.”  


“For duties.”  


Okay. Kylo isn’t sure why he’s so upset, but he is. He nods, and looks around for a mask that isn’t there. He winces, but he can’t leave without one. He can’t.

“…I’ll have one made for you,” Hux offers.  


“…thanks.”  


The man nods, and leaves Kylo alone.

Kylo slumps into the chair, and everything crashes back in on him. All the failure, all the pain, all the knowledge of his inadequacy. He’d hidden it in the small, temporary goals of Heal and Impress Hux, but with those gone… he’s left with the crushing awareness of everything else that’s wrong.

***

When Hux comes back, Kylo’s two breaths away from destroying the room. He’s curled on the bed, knees to his chest, hand pulling his hair almost out from the scalp. He’s rocking, comforting himself even as he inflicts more pain. It helps, it helps - it’s not enough, but it’s enough to cope.

“Kylo…”  


“Go away,” he hisses.  


“Kylo, what’s happened? You were doing so well?”  


An arm flings out, sending the man flying. “What do you care? I’m fine. I’m _fit for duty_.”

He doesn’t see what’s happened to Hux, but he can feel fear, distress, disappointment… yep. All those good things. Kylo bundles tighter, his sock-clad feet scraping against the wall adjoining his cot bed. 

“Kylo… how can I help you?”  


“You should have fucking let me _die_ , instead of make me think it could be okay.”  


“Wait… what?”  


He bangs his head into the bulkhead, and even when there’s hands grabbing for his shoulders to prevent it, he uses his nails on those gloved hands to get free.

Hux moves fast, throwing himself bodily onto him, trying to stop the self-destructive fit. Kylo is startled by the sudden presence of arms and legs around him, and he bucks and claws, dropping his teeth to sink into a wrist and:

“ _STOP THAT, KYLO. I’M TRYING TO HELP YOUR DUMB ASS.”_  


Kylo lets go biting, and realises he’s being absolutely childish. Like. Beyond childish. He just _bit_ him. After trying to brain himself on the wall. Realisation of his immature panic hits, and he yelps in distress.

“Kylo… what’s going on? You were doing better?”  


“You _left_ me,” he hisses. “You left me.”  


“I went to work, Kylo.”  


“You…”  


“I went to perform my duties. I wasn’t… I mean, you didn’t need me to help you any more.”  


But he did. Kylo doesn’t know why Hux doesn’t understand. “I got well for you.”

It’s good that he can’t see Hux’s eyes like this, but the arm that tightens around him is enough. 

“Why?” asks Hux, for once.  


“I wanted to make you proud of me,” Kylo mumbles. “And… because you cared.”  


Tighter. Almost chokingly tight, but it feels reassuring, not distressing. “I just didn’t… like what he’d done to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I did.”  


“You _didn’t_ , Kylo. You made a mistake, but you didn’t betray him. And maybe if he’d teach you more, you’d be better equipped to do what he wants.”  


This is the first time Kylo recalls hearing any criticism levelled against their Master from Hux, and he glances back as best he can. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t point out he’s nearly broken you, and keeps you crippled? Kylo… I might not know the Force, but I know how to train a man. He’s not _training_ you, he’s keeping your legs broken and your teeth sharp.”  


It’s true. But he doesn’t feel able to face it, so he shoves his face into the bed. He can’t scream, but he wants to. He waits until the urge goes, then speaks, muffled. “I didn’t want you to go away.”

“…you’re going to have to let me work, though.”  


“Work… but not leave?”  


“You can have me off-duty, if that’s what you want.”  


Kylo isn’t sure what Hux is really offering, but it’s company of a form. He holds him tighter to his own chest, and nods.

“But no more biting, and no more hurting yourself. Do you understand? Not even threats. If you want something, you’re to ask for it. I’m not a mind-reader like you, Ren.”  


“I don’t even _know_ some times,” Kylo admits. “I mean, what I want. Or why… I am like I am.”  


They think about this for a moment. 

“Would you be able to tell me you’re feeling upset, or stressed? Even if not why? We could work out the why after.”  


Another pause, a break, and Kylo nods. “…might… have to kick a few chairs.”

“If you restrain yourself to non-damaging and not-injurious behaviour, that will be fine.”  


Kylo wriggles himself backwards into Hux’s hold, which is feeling more like a hug and less like a fight by the second. “…thank you,” he manages.

He’s not sure why Hux would ever agree to this, but he’s glad he has.

***

Knowing Hux will come home, and that he can come home to Hux, things look up. There’s something to fight through the day to back to. There’s a goal, there’s something to look forwards to, and he can delay his bad feelings until he gets back to scream them into the shower, or briefly punch the bed if he has to. 

Hux doesn’t judge if he comes in and Kylo’s standing with his head against the wall and his fists just pushing some tension out of his shoulders. He waits for Kylo to finish, and if Kylo doesn’t volunteer the topic, they move on.

Hux leaves again at the end of the night, and Kylo wishes he wouldn’t, but he doesn’t know how to ask him to stay. It starts to get harder, knowing he’ll go. Starts to sour the evening from eating onwards, with his eyes on the chrono. It would almost be easier for him to already be gone, than to live with–

“You know… you could just ask me,” Hux says, into his fruit-analogous cup, his tiny spoon scraping around the sides.  


“Ask you what?”  


“What you’ve spent two weeks trying to say and then acting like an asshole until I’m gone, then half the day after.”  


“I’m not!”  


Hux taps the spoon inside, like he always does, and puts it on his tray. “You are. I thought you were going to be open with me.”

“Why?”  


“Because we’re friends?”  


Kylo freezes. Friends. They’ve never used the term. Never defined what they are. Is it friends? Is that it? It’s been so long that the muscles have atrophied. 

“I don’t like it when you leave.”  


“Kylo… be reasonable. I only leave to sleep, and to work.”  


“Doesn’t mean I have to _like_ it.”  


“No, but you do have to not be childish about it.”  


“Or you could just… not?”  


“ _Finally_.”  


Kylo sits upright. “What?”

“Is that what you want? Me to stay the night, too?”  


“Why are you always like this?” Kylo asks. “If you knew it’s what I wanted, why didn’t you just do it?”  


“Why didn’t you just ask?”  


“Because… it’s hard!”  


“Maybe it is for me, too,” Hux points out. “You might not actually want me, once it happens. And then we’ll both feel uncomfortable.”  


“Why? It worked before. It could work again. And if it didn’t, you could still come by at night.”  


This is when he sees Hux’s hands fidget, and realises it _isn’t_ just him being stubborn and wanting Kylo himself to say things. He _is_ nervous. And he’s been nothing but considerate of Kylo’s… peculiarities to date.

So. It’s time he did, too. “If you would… like. I would… like you to spend some nights. But only if you want to,” he says, his voice a little more formal than he intended. 

He sees the little quirk to Hux’s lips, the tic. He does want it. But he’s nervous, too. “I think I might be able to manage that.”

***

Hux doesn’t have nightwear in his rooms any more, so they settle for both in long sweatpants. Hux wears some of Kylo’s, and tightens the strings and ties them in an equidistant bow. 

He finds out Hux is shy about his body, from the way he jumps into the bed first, and pulls the covers up. Kylo understands, and climbs in without touching him, gently pulling the covers to lie over them both.

The light goes out, and he listens to Hux’s heart, to his lungs. 

“I missed this,” Kylo admits, to the dark of the room. “It always felt better when you were here.”  


“I haven’t shared a room since the Academy days,” Hux replies. “And that wasn’t really reassuring.”  


Kylo turns, and he sees the owl-bright eyes glint at him. The soft edges of broken illumination tracing him, like a frozen lightning-bolt down a jagged profile. 

“I wanted to be better because of you. I wanted you to be proud of me. You’re the… you’re the only one who’s cared if I live or not. In years.”  


“You at least remember it,” Hux says, his lashes drifting down to close the reflections on his glassy eyes.   


“I care. If you live or die.”  


Open again, confused, an expression like an egg sizzling on a griddle. First this way, then that. “Thank you.”

He feels a hand reach for him, and just little fingers touch. Nothing more. 

Kylo leans in, and when Hux doesn’t object… he pushes his forehead against the older man’s. “Thank _you_ ,” he whispers. For reminding him. For reminding him how it felt like, to matter.

***

Who ends up big spoon varies depending on the day. Whoever is most tired gets bundled up, and a nose to the back of the neck. Wordless comfort, and Hux doesn’t spend a day away from Kylo’s bed if he can help it. 

It’s. It’s just. Right. Kylo loves it, and he feels his heart expand every time the door opens to show the General. He smiles, and he means it. They talk, and sometimes they fight, but they end up curled up together before the night is out. 

It is possible he shouldn’t do this, but he doesn’t care. Hux is the only thing that’s given him meaning in years. The only thing that motivates him, or makes him happy. He lives to see the happiness in his eyes and face, and finds ways to provoke that sensation for the sake of itself. 

Love? Is that what it is? Wanting him happy, no matter what? If it is, he’s in it. He’s in it bad, and they haven’t even kissed.

So when he wakes, one morning, and Hux is pressed against his ass and hard… normally they ignore that, brush it off. Pretend it hasn’t happened. 

Today… he kind of wants to know if it’s just automatic, or if it’s for ‘him’. He knows Hux isn’t fully awake, so he rubs his ass back against his groin, and holds the hand on his waist. Harder, and he feels Hux stirring.

The man tries to pull away, but Kylo holds his hand to stop him, then pushes his butt backwards. After a moment to show it’s deliberate, he gradually lets up the pressure on his hand, giving him the choice to brush this off, too.

For terrible moments, nothing happens. Then the fingers on his hip-bone spider-walk down and across, then back up. Kylo grinds back again, saying _yes_ , and gently pushes the hand back  to the front and centre.

As those fingers stroke over the front of his sweatpants, there’s lips just behind his ear. “Do you want this, Kylo?”

“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes. I do.”  


“Me too,” Hux admits, and then his hand curls around his shaft through the fabric.  


Kylo cries out at the shock of stimulation, and reaches behind to hold the back of Hux’s neck. It’s so good, and it’s just barely anything, yet. “I want you,” he whispers, and feels the hand clench. “Only you. Only ever you.”

Hux’s hand goes faster, then, pushing down his pants. Kylo lifts to help him, and he feels Hux moving his own, too. He doesn’t really know what to do in practice, but then his legs are pulled apart and he can feel the firm push of a dick sliding between his thighs. His leg is dropped down again, trapping the cock between them. It rubs against his balls, along the stripe between his cheeks, and then there’s hand back around his own cock.

Kylo holds Hux’s head still, craning his head around to beg for kisses. They’re just lip-touches, but more than that are the soft noises of pleasure as Hux fucks between his thighs. The rough handjob is going to get him over the edge fast, and he can’t think of any better way to - well. Pop his cherry. Surrounded by the man he cares so deeply for, being touched in their shared bed. Soft strokes and mutual satisfaction as they kiss. He whispers encouragement to Hux’s mouth as the man goes faster, begging him for more, promising him anything he wants. 

The sudden splatter between his legs is strange, and salty-smelling, even from here. Maybe he’s thinking it too much, because then Hux gathers up the ejaculate and twists it over Kylo’s own shaft. That’s more than enough to make him spill in the beating, and his back bends like a bow under the inexorable _rightness_ of it. 

His climax echoes warmly through him, like fingers raked through his nerves. Like warm water in a bathtub. Like a head laid on your lap, for you to stroke, to touch. Hux’s face is pushed into the nape of his neck, and it’s in the tiny laughs they trade back and forth.

“How long have you… wanted that?” Kylo asks.  


“Maybe as long as you.”  


“We can do it more, though?”  


“Oh, shut up, roll over, and kiss me,” Hux demands. “And we can do it as often as you want.”  


The Knight - without hesitation - complies. He doesn’t know how to kiss, but he can learn that. Here. With Hux. Where it’s safe, and where he’s… loved. He can learn how to do _anything_.


End file.
